The First Run
by Sober Dogs Bore Me
Summary: In an AU Wormverse, Gumshoe!Taylor is cornered by a seemingly ditzy blonde with more Tinker-toys than sense.
1. 1-1

**[1.1]**

She smiled like the kind of pretty that would break your bank account and spill all your dirty little secrets to your closest friends in one dizzy afternoon.

Thankfully, I had none of those. Except secrets.

I would need to be careful around her. Partly because of that smile.

Mostly because she had somehow gotten into my office without me. My bugs glared at the combination lock that mathematics had sworn would be harder to guess than picking the right grain of sand on a beach. It didn't look broken.

Goes to show how far trust goes these days.

I reached back to my street as she sat on my chair, bringing in the bugs from nearby apartments to reinforce the defences that surrounded my office.

I had plenty of bugs to bring in.

Her car glistened against the sidewalk in front of my building, flanked by massive tree-trunks in black and white glowering at anybody who happened to come within spitting distance of the masterpiece they were protecting. Deep blue coat and Tinker-made, if the vertical flaps protruding from the roof were any indication. I eyed the men again, noting the obvious bulges in their suits: they didn't look impressive enough for something that was worth more than the rest of this street combined.

I gave them a quick smile as I turned by them and onto my landing, punching in another combination she shouldn't have been able to get past. The cloying musty smell of the hallway greeted me like a scorned lover. I breathed it in deep. She was leaning back on my chair, swinging it around a bit. It's faded and frayed black seemed even cheaper against the smooth blue of her dress.

She was fingering the little I had on my desk as I began to climb the staircase. I didn't have much in the way of possessions: a notebook and some pencils, an empty glass and a silvery flask with my dad's initials carved onto the bottom. A few books were stacked behind the half-drawn curtain to her side. Around the place were a couple of souvenirs from my previous relationships: a red and white lighter, filigreed with grey around its edges; the remains of a broken spectacle frame; and a small bowl in a shelf at the corner. Not enough, really, to fill up a room; not enough for a closet.

Let's just say I liked to travel light.

Opening the flask, she took a whiff and that damn smile widened. I could feel her laugh as she poured some into the glass. Even her swallows were practiced, drawing the gaze to the long pale neck.

I frowned at the thought. She looked like she was hamming it up, playing for an audience.

And that's when she did it. Holding up that amber glass, she smiled and looked at my bugs as if they were old friends.

I felt a cockroach swoon.

"Hello, Taylor Hebert," she said. "I'm Lisa. And we have a lot to talk about."

0-0

It's not often I get the urge to punch things, but her teeth were looking like exceptionally deserving targets.

Like all the pretty people I knew, she didn't hesitate in showing off her grin. Only along with her wide smiles, she was also casually throwing out my secrets.

Either she was a cape, or somebody had done a lot of homework on me.

I couldn't figure out which was worse.

"Spit it out," I said, standing in front of my own desk with my arms crossed. I felt like a kid again, just tensing my fists uselessly as a bully continued to rage and ravage my little corner of the world. "What the fuck do you want me to do?"

She spoke, slow and loud, still holding a glass and asserting her power over me as she paused in mid-sentence to beckon me, like an errant child, towards the chair. "This is just a demonstration, Taylor. Sit, sit. No need to be so tense."

I scowled.

She took a sip of my whiskey. "This is good stuff. Doesn't quite fit the décor, does it?"

I gave her a hard glance—probably not the same as the kind she was used to. She took it with a roll of the eyes.

"Then again," she added, "neither do you. I still can't figure out how a girl graduating magna cum laude in art _and _physics would end up in this dump in two—"

I jerked to the left, and folded myself upon the chair. She had stopped at my movement and was now just staring at me, cupping the glass with both hands. Down below, her bodyguards were grumbling and I moved a few more bugs around them to get a clearer sound. Her smile grew strained as she waited for me to speak. Only when I was sure she was about to interject did I begin. "Is that a rhetorical question, or do you actually not know why?"

"No, I do." She waited for a beat before continuing. "I would give you my condolences but I don't think they'd mean much."

"Nothing at all." I watched her fiddle for a moment before sighing. She was a goddamned amateur. I didn't know whether to be relieved or angry. "Just give it to me straight—what do you want me to do?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I want you to keep those bloody bugs away from me, for a start."

Her bodyguards were still grumbling downstairs, their absence by her side a rather conspicuous weakness. Either she was stupid and they weren't wanted, as they groused about downstairs, or she felt that she didn't _need _them. That would be a wholly different ballgame. Could I take the chance? I had enough bugs around us to down an elephant.

The glass slammed onto the desk. The flask toppled off. Its lid probably wasn't screwed tight because it plopped right off the neck with the first hard bounce and let the whiskey spill onto the floor. I met her eyes with more than just my usual anger.

"I'm not going to say it twice." She growled. I could see the beads of sweat on her forehead as clearly as the oblivious guards downstairs. She had some advantage, I was plenty sure of that. But what she didn't have was the nerve to keep it in reserve for as long as she should. It was stupid of me to threaten somebody who had me over the barrel like this but, well, fuck, what do you expect? There was a reason I hadn't moved up in the world.

I had dear old dad to thank for that.

The electricity arced out of her a moment later, in a bright, pretty lance that fractured into a thousand threads and speared into the walls. Lights sparked and went out. The entire eastern front of bugs fried. I tried not to react to any of it; I don't think I was successful.

_Directed Electricity. _

Forget the cars, this was stuff I didn't even know Tinkers put out into the market. The fight went out of me like a punctured blimp above an unsuspecting cityscape. She either had a Tinker on call, or was backed by someone rich enough to go around in circles I hadn't even heard of: she seemed far too brittle to be the one calling the shots herself.

She took a long gander at me before her face grew blank. Then, after taking a deep swallow and emptying the glass, she muttered a quiet 'fuck'. "I underestimated you," she said. "You're crazier than I thought. You realize I could have directed that towards you as easily right?" She paused. "Of course you do—that just makes it worse."

I smiled grimly. Bugs streamed from the vents in the walls towards the fallen flask. "And you think I'm going to play fetch just because you know a few things about me." Her face scrunched up, for some reason. "I guess we're both wrong."

Her expression narrowed. "Yours are not the only secrets I hold. Not threatening you, just laying out the facts." I felt my limbs grow leaden. She didn't mean… Looking right at me she barreled on. "That's exactly who I'm talking about."

The blinds in the vent weren't wide enough for the bottle to pass through, so the bugs just deposited it by the side of the shelf with the empty bowl. As always, picturing the tranquility and stillness of that empty piece of pottery failed to calm me.

Still, her words were straightjacket enough. I drew my bugs into a wide perimeter around my room, far enough to not appear overtly threatening, in case she had some Ticker gadget to measure that too.

I'd probably not said it enough: Tinkers are fucking _bullshit. _Worse than Thinkers. Thankfully, there were too few of them for their toys to percolate too wide—not that your garden-variety scum could ever dream of purchasing anything with a Tinker stamp. And Lisa here had at least two. And given the soft uniform shading of her skin and the perfectly sculpted look of her crossed legs, probably more.

I gave a small resigned sigh and faced her, and she volleyed back with that damned smile of hers. And less than 10 minutes later, staring at the appointment she'd typed into my calendar (and how the fuck did she know that password?), I was calling my only friend and waiting anxiously for her to pick up.

"Hey. In a bit of a rush. What's up?"

I felt the relief wash over me. "Emma. Where are you? We need to talk."

* * *

**AN:** Unbeta'ed and experimental. Trying to difference kind of voice and theme, as well as more rapid writing. Let's see how it works out.


	2. 1-2

**[1.2]**

I was sipping on my third glass when Emma entered the bar. Despite this being our regular joint, enough eyes turned towards her and then _stayed _for my hand to tense around the glass. She'd always gotten this kind of attention, one way or another. But it did get rather frustrating after a while.

In typical Emma fashion, she didn't let their scrutiny faze her. Weaving through the closely packed tables she made her way towards the bar. I beckoned her with a raised hand and pushed back the bar-stool before she reached. An old vice, though not one of my worst. Still, she chuckled as she sat, asking Jake for her regular gin and tonic.

"You know," she started, swirling the top of the stool half-towards me, "one of these days you'll forget to do that and then I'm just going to be absolutely devastated."

"Then why do you ask me to stop every time?"

She smirked. "Obviously to ensure that you don't."

If the bar had had atmosphere once upon a time, it had been beaten out of it. The tables bore their deep gouges and half-broken counters with pride—just like their patrons. In the past couple of years the bar had turned from struggling dive for dockworkers, to a bohemian hangout, and then back towards some awkward amalgamation of the two. You almost expected a burly dockworker-type to walk in with a beatnik cap perched upon his forehead and awkward poetry in his hands.

The bugs I'd planted all across the bar hadn't pinged on anything, despite that initial sharp reaction to Emma's entrance.

In the end, these were my kind of people.

I had tagged each and every one of them with more than a single bug, nonetheless.

I took a deep swallow from my glass. Not the first time I'd found myself feeling excessively paranoid today. Lisa had pretty much unsettled my constitution. I couldn't decide on whether to take a getaway car or a Gatling gun to our 10 pm rendezvous. Not that I could afford a good specimen of either.

Emma placed her palm atop my tapping fingers, stilling them. Lowering her voice, she said, "You're surly today. What's wrong?"

I kept the glass aside. "I think I fucked up, Emma."

"Okay," she said, drawing out the word. "A case? Didn't know you had one right now, but… no, not that? Wrong guy? Girl? What are you in the mood for these—"

"Bigger," I said, stopping her before she went too far down that particular road.

Her fingers atop my hand tensed. "Bigger?" she asked, her voice having shed that false perkiness she had gotten so used to adopting.

I turned towards her. She wore a grey jacket from below which hints of her red dress peaked out. Her hair fell off her head in these fine strands that felt like the curtains of a decedent boudoir. Unlike her arms, her legs were uncovered and had a yellowish glow in the light of the bar—no scars there to hide. Her mouth was pursed as she leaned towards me, tense, and that highlighted the superficial scarring still left by the deep tears around her lips. I brushed the hair back from her cheeks, my fingers ghosting close enough to her empty eye socket for her to flinch back.

"Oh," she muttered, a dozen quiet moments later. "It's like that."

"It's like that."

Her shoulders collapsed inwards and her breath sped up.

"Who is it? The police? Or did the gang find out somehow?"

"I don't know." At her confused look, I continued, "A woman, Lisa, came by today. Rich as fuck. Tinker-tech up the wazoo—the kind of stuff I've never heard of. She's probably working for somebody else, but she knew things. About my powers, definitely. About the rest… probably. She didn't flat out say it, just hinted it loudly enough. Took your name a couple of times, too."

Emma smiled a wide bitter smile, and stooped back over the bar, cradling her glass. She sipped from it for a long minute, her gaze boring into the wood. And then, coming to a decision, she drowned the remainder of the drink, stood, and buttoned up her coat. "Let's go then. You should have told me to pack – I would have understood. It's not like we haven't… planned this scenario out."

Jake was ambling towards us with a frown and another bottle of beer.

Emma stood looming above me, and beyond that impassive gaze she'd long perfected, I could see little hints of gladness. Her fingers found mine again and pressed. "What are you waiting for?" she hissed.

"Sit," I said. Then smiling up at Jake's raised eyebrow, I added, "No more for me, thanks. I have work tonight."

Jake gaze lingered on us for a moment, but he bit his tongue and moved away. Only after he'd left did Emma relax her biting grip on my fingers. "What is it then," she said as she sat down again. Her coat pulled up her thighs, pushing the hem of her red dress higher. I fought the urge to pull it back down to a decent length: touching her in this mood would earn me nothing but a punch. "You're not coming with me?"

"We're not going anywhere. Not yet." I sighed, taking a sip from an empty glass. "Think Emma. You never think these things through. I told you she had tinker-tech—lots of it. How far do you think we can run from that kind of money?" I gave her my most imploring, reasonable voice, and it seemed to burrow through that wall that her anger and fear so often erected. She had a sharp mind, when she wasn't too sick to use it.

"So, you're going to scope her out? See how much she knows." She canted her head towards me. "You said you have 'Work tonight'—you already know where to look for her."

I smiled, mostly to myself. "She arranged a meeting. I guess her afternoon one didn't go as planned."

Somebody turned on the music, and the deep bass of Cohen's voice wafted across the room like the smoke from a beloved cigarette. Nobody danced to the kind of music they played here, but you still felt it in your bones. I could see half the bar moving in their own little ways to the tune: tapping toes, shivering thighs, and reverent eyes. We talked as the song progressed, and the heady perfume she wore enveloped me as I leaned close and told her about what had happened in the afternoon. The perfume was strong, too strong. If she'd applied it in the morning, it would have faded by now. But of course, she hadn't.

Half an hour later, we were out onto the streets, with the cool evening wind curling through my hair and calming the flush that had risen inexorably up my neck. My skin felt heated, sensitive and expectant.

She looked worse.

I barged on, not wanting to linger on that. "Keep yourself at the edge of Magnolia street—if it goes down sour, I'll still be able to alert you to hightail it out of there with my bugs."

"Okay."

"I'm serious, Emma. If it goes bad, you leave. Go to your father. He'll be able to protect you from whatever shitstorm these guys try to bring down on our heads."

"And where exactly are you going to be?"

"Don't talk like that. I'm not martyring myself. They've taken a lot of trouble to get to me. Don't think they're going to off me just yet."

"Okay."

I felt like wringing her neck. The blush in her cheeks and the wet wide-eyed look on her face was either arousal or excitement, it was hard to tell which. But both were equally unwelcome. "For fuck's sake Emma…"

"It's okay Taylor." She said, putting her arms on my shoulders and pulling me close. "We all have our parts: you play the hero, again, and I'm… well, you know what I am."

I closed my eyes and let her hug me. Life hadn't been good, but it had been predictable, understandable, and through that, surmountable. Lisa had turned it to shit in a single afternoon. I could feel the ghosts of our past nudging at our knees.

She spoke into my shoulders, making it worse. "It's been a while since we've done something like this, hasn't it? I'm feeling kind of excited about it now."

I pulled away, scowling. Despite it all, she was in an end just a pretty girl unable to resist a thrill. Your try to point them in the right direction, and when you can't, you just have to buckle up and protect them.

I'd learned that the hard way.

"Take a couple of Michael's guns. I hate that girly shit you carry."

She continued to give me a stupid, pretty smile.


	3. 1-3

**1.3**

_The Grand Sichuan_ was the kind of place you went to when you wanted to really exercise your lungs. Or at least, that's what the vague online reviewer had said. It was also the only review I could find of the place.

I put the phone back in my pocket and eyed the joint. The bar didn't quite live up to the seedy little image the reviewer had posted: in reality, the cheap lights in the hedges made the unobtrusive mauve of the walls look washed out, and exposed the cracks that fractured the paint like the spines of a multifaceted leaf. The place looked more old than dingy, and the slightly stooped back of the footman standing below the faded paifang added to the weariness of this grimy, benighted street.

The only benefit were the plentiful bugs lazing in every dark nook around me, and most of the easily visible ones too. My swarm had more than doubled since I'd turned onto this road, not an easy endeavor considering the mass I had already been carrying. In most situations, I would feel confident about this kind of firepower.

But today the walls of my office were blackened by a rain of electricity and it had taken me a long hour to get my few remaining bugs to clean up their dead comrades. I could still hear the scrunching noises as exoskeletons were shattered and gobbled up; they weren't as comforting as the bug noises I was used to.

Now here I was, with an army as useful as a bedsheet against a bullet. I wasn't completely defenseless, and my usuals—Taser, mini-truncheon—were packed in easy-to-reach places. Still, I wouldn't want to speculate on how much they could help me in this scenario: I didn't think they stacked odds so low.

Ten minutes after the hope hour had struck, I bunched my coat around myself and strode towards the joint. She had entered from somewhere in the back, and was dazzling a portly Asian man by taking off her overcoat to hang in his eager, outstretched hands. Like before, her every movement was a performance, and this time I was plenty sure it was entirely for my benefit. As she wound away from him, she sent a sharp vulpine smile towards the wall.

The cobblestone path leading up to the joint was heaved in places, enough to trip but too little too notice through the gaze alone. My bugs helped me navigate that strange topography. A little ball of unease settled into my stomach, more noxious than before.

_What sort of place was this? _

The footman frowned at me, taking in the long black overcoat with a raking glance. This wasn't the first time I'd been scoped out by footmen, though most of them didn't come with establishments like these. Emma had this way of arching the eyebrows of her right eye that, given the empty socket beneath, would freak-out most people who tried to impede her access. My facial tics rarely resulted in successful entry, so I just resorted to my gruff voice.

"Meeting with Lisa DuMont."

That what the phrase she had sent me, in an evening text that changed the location of our meeting. It was an understandable move: I had scoped out the one she'd given me earlier by then and was imaging ways to booby-trap it.

The man's eyes widened above his strained smile and he pressed at the buzzer behind him with the flat of his palm.

The ornate red door, with muted gold filigree trailing at its edges, opened an instant later.

The air inside was heavy and cloying, settling deep in my lungs. It took me a moment to recognize the smell of burnt spices, and even longer to start making my way through the sparse floor and towards the empty corner where which Lisa was occupying the only table.

She was sitting by now, legs crossed, with the square table sprawled out in front of her with all the solemnity of a chess board. To her right there was a black shaker with a white rim, and a white shaker with a sparkling black top. The menu was placed just so that it spanned the horizontal divide, bearing the exact same options on both sides, though only one side had prices. The chairs were plush, but stiff backed, the kind that a dead body could recline against but not slip off from. The water in a fine crystal glass trembled as I sat.

"You're late," she said, adopting again that flirtatious tone she had during the start of the meeting. "I almost thought you wouldn't come."

"I thought of running, but I figured you'd be the clingy type."

Her smile widened. Raising her hand she summoned the waiter and spoke to him and then dismissed him in rapid Chinese.

_Well, _I thought, _perhaps not the ditzy blonde. The overconfident David, perhaps? _That made me relax slightly: I liked overconfidence in my foes.

Her smile stayed on. It was like sitting in a loud, rumbling speedster of a car: exhilarating for a moment, but then the noise got to you.

The waiter promptly returned with a bottle of wine and two thin-stemmed glasses. After he'd poured the blood-red wine out, she raised her glass slightly and tilted it towards me.

"There's nothing to celebrate," I said.

"There will be."

I waited for her drink before sipping. The wine, like the crystal glass and the women before me, contrasted with the shabbiness of the place.

"Let's start again," she said, depositing the glass on the table and reclining against the chair. Her bare shoulders gleamed in the light. Her eyes observed with me a sharp digging quality that made me think of a wild animal with bared fangs. My bugs reacted to her gaze and began to skitter in the walls. "I might have come across strong earlier. Forgive me. I tend to pursue things I like a bit too aggressively."

"Leave me alone and we'll be copacetic."

She rolled on. "I think you've already understood my interest in coming to you?"

I shrugged. With my coat still on, I think the effect of the movement was lost. "You're arachnophilic and have some weird spider fetish you want my help to fulfill."

She chuckled. Despite everything, I felt myself smiling in response. I could almost see Emma raising an eyebrow at that.

"Let's get serious, Taylor. You have a skill that I consider very valuable."

"I find things for money," I said, in a rather flat tone. "Sometimes a bit more, but that's all."

"You are an Übermensch in a town composed almost entirely of normals. You are a bit more valuable than just another Private Dick." She cocked her head. "Although, I still think you're entirely too smart to be in this kind of racket."

"Almost entirely?"

Her grin widened. "You understand."

I shook my head. "Either you want me to use my abilities to help you find something, or you want me to be your frontend against the other Supers in town. The first I get, but the second? I control bugs. Not the kind of power that incites shock and awe at the negotiating table."

"You're wrong: I'm awed." I narrowed my eyes and showed her exactly how much that grin worked on me. She waved it off with another laugh and gestured for the staff. "You want anything? No? Okay, then, bring us two," she said, before switching to Chinese. As the waiter left, she turned back towards me. "The food is good, despite how this place looks."

"No thanks. I've seen the kitchens."

"Oh." Her nose scrunched up. "Damn. I've had their dinner a couple of times."

I took a long deep breath and struggled not to reply. It was coming so easy, talking to her. I had to remind myself of the sword she held over my head. Emma was sitting in her car, not so far off, fidgeting with the gun. Her own gun. I felt the appropriate scowl rise to my face and turned it towards Lisa.

"Can we cut the act: what do you want? And why are you so sure I'll do it?"

Her smile frosted over, and her fingers calmly placed the glass the waiter had refiled back on the table. "A pleasant meal with a fascinating soon-to-be employee. But I take it you have other ideas?"

She suddenly sounded far more dangerous than she looked. In the dress she had on, you couldn't wear panties without announcing it to the world. If she was carrying tinker-tech with her, I honestly could imagine where she would have stuffed it.

Still, I hadn't seen it in my office either.

She continued. "And I can offer you a lot of things. Money, for one. But since you walked away from your father so cleanly, I doubt you're very much interested in money and what it buys." She picked up the glass. "Do you know, btw, how much he's worth nowadays?"

"On a Dockman's salary? I doubt he has much compared to someone like you."

"Oh," she chided. "You know that's not true."

My eyes closed for a moment. The bugs around Emma formed words.

"Is that you're leverage? My father's shady dealings? 'Cause as you've noticed, I don't give a shit."

"No, I know money is not something you care much about." She took a swallow. Her voice, as it came out after that massive gulp, was deeper and huskier. "How about information? You'd value that, won't you?"

I kept mum.

"So tenacious. You know Eidolon?"

I could help but speak. _Everybody _knew of Eidolon. "Obviously."

She echoed my words back. "_Obviously._ You know how he died? No? Would you like to?"

Was this the bait? I blinked at her, more than a bit confused. After the way she'd been acting, I'd sort of imagined the bait, when it came, would be a lot more carnal.

She coughed before I could speak, almost spitting out the wine she'd been drinking in between speaking. When she'd straightened again, I replied. "Despite all the conspiracy theories, it's pretty much historical record how he died. Alexandria came out and publically said it in '91, before she began that program to help supers control their powers. Especially the strong ones, like Eidolon, in case a fatal Cascade happened again."

"And it never has."

"What?"

She leaned back, sipping from her glass. Her voice had cleared of that husky tinge it had earlier had, and was sharp and precise. "Eidolon was killed, like a lot of Supers in the late 80's, in a government pogrom meant to try and exert control. They failed, though not entirely." Smirking at my dumbfounded look, she started again, tugging at the hook she'd snared through my cheeks. "He died with a bullet through the head. Well, three shots, and the third one was for Mia, the government-trained assassin he was fucking in a hotel room in Prague."

"Bullshit."

The waiter came with the meal with sharp clicks of his heels. I felt flushed, heated. My brain flailed in the deluge of what she'd given me. I had no way of verifying what she said, but the more I thought about it, the more right it sounded. Which made it the perfect hook, didn't it?

Still, the Super Health-Centers were something I'd always wanted to avoid, even if I'd never been able to articulate why. And it had been Emma who'd calmed me down and nursed me after my trigger, not some government certified white-coat.

What she was saying made sense, even though it shouldn't. For the first time in a long time I found myself thinking about matters larger than next month's rent, and the general crappiness that somehow kept me ensnared in this town, despite my virulent hate for it.

Why had it taken Alexandria nearly two years to begin her program after her friend's death? Was it just grief, as it was commonly said, or was there something shadier at work her? I tried to recall the theories those conspiracy nuts threw out, but all I could remember was the fact that some German professor had alleged that the subsequent fall of the USSR after Eidolon's death was because of the essential support he had covertly provided while alive to the hollowed-out Soviet regime.

Why had I never sought to investigate those kinds of matters with the same outlook I had to the rest of life? I could hardly imagine going out of my apartment without my bugs checking the surrounding rooms and roofs for snipers, and yet I'd pretty much swallowed the government's line on this matter?

…Just as I was pretty much swallowing hers.

I tried to center myself, and looked for Emma. She was pacing outside the car, gun in hand, and I realized I hadn't spoken to her in nearly five minutes. _I'm fine, _I said through the bugs. _Just surprised by something she said._

As Emma began questioning the group of cockroaches in the car, my attention came back the table, to Lisa and way she was observing me with that confident serene gaze that was so removed from the jittery girl I'd imagined this afternoon as being a patsy. The food in front of us sent out its hot, inviting aroma straight upon my face. Hers was as untouched as mine.

She finally spoke. "That interests you."

"It does. It's interesting. In the end, though, it's inconsequential. To me, at least. These are the kind of things I'd imagine you could find much more appreciative audiences for."

She nodded. "But I've come to you. You must be wondering why?"

"All night."

She smiled, and beckoned towards the food. It was the kind of neatly arranged Chinese I knew would become terribly messy the moment I dug into it.

"Of course, this is not the only kind of information I have."

She paused. I looked up from the plate, and slurped the noddle in. "Okay," I finally said, when she didn't pick up the thought. "And?"

It took her nearly half a minute to respond, long enough that I was about to send a bug to check on her pulse. With the way she was leaning back against the chair, she could be dead and I wouldn't know it.

"Sorry. Got a call on the Tinker phone. Give me a moment."

I nodded and took a bite.

After a moment, shaking her head, she said, "Anyway, Information. If the previous morsel didn't interest you, how about the exact identities and locations of the men who attacked your pretty friend, Emma Barnes." She waited for a beat before finishing. "At least those you two haven't killed yet."

Somehow, through that, I kept my cool and having taken in a spoonful of Chinese, chewed and swallowed it. Keeping the utensil down with an unruly clank, I looked up at her, my bugs around the restaurant absolutely frozen.

Hook. Line.

And I'm sunk.

"And what do you want in return?"

She smiled. Extending her hand towards me, she said, "Welcome to the party, Taylor. I have a feeling you're going to enjoy it here."


	4. 1-4

[1.4]

It was a long walk back to the car. My bugs surrounded me and I went in their wake, letting them guide my steps through the badly lit lanes. Through the bugs the city pressed into my senses, the cloying sights and sounds of it. I tried to keep it at bay as my mind churned through the remainder of my dinner with Lisa.

After hooking me in, she had become pretty coy with her intentions. There was a lesson there, but damned if I would learn it.

Still, the central thrust of her words was clear: she knew. About the men and that one woman that Emma and I had killed. And probably the why too, though that wasn't too hard to guess. Lisa knew and was willing to help us. For a price.

It was cold by the time I reached the car. Emma slumped against the wheel in relief as she saw me, accidentally mashing the horn and startling the dogs around us into a medley of barks. Rolling my eyes, I opened the door and got inside, dispersing the mass of bugs I had stationed around her. Immediately she leaned over and hugged me.

"Well," she said, moving back. The gun she held in her right hand trembled—it was a small, girly piece. "What did she say?"

"Nothing we didn't expect. Let's go. You've already gotten far too much attention."

Startled, she looked around. "Nobody approached. Believe me, I was looking."

"You're carrying a gun and look pretty uncomfortable doing it. Nobody's gonna come in front of a nervous shooter. But they are watching."

The car purred as it started. I never really saw the point in cars, but even I had to admit that Michael had taken pretty fine care of this one.

"You're avoiding my question," she said, as we moved through a familiar neighborhood. Focused on me, she was driving slow enough for me to do what I needed to.

"It doesn't have an answer. I don't know exactly what she wants. Not yet."

She jammed the accelerator down. "You were there for hours."

"And she fed me pretty stories for hours. Amongst other things. Take a left will you, I want see the bay."

The city whipped by us. Out of the gutter, Brockton Bay was actually a pretty nice town. The buildings around us gleamed and now that we were in the nicer parts of town, I could see police cars.

"You're worried," Emma said. "You always go to beach when you're worried."

"It helps me think."

"Think a little this way, yeah?"

I kept silent. The cold night wind carried the smell of the sea and the waves were becoming louder.

"Michael called a few times."

"Did you tell him?"

She sighed, turning the car into the parking lot besides the boardwalk. "I want to keep him out of it. He doesn't really know anything, you know?"

Would that even matter, if somebody came knocking on his door? Better to feed him enough that he could spill his guts if he needed to, before they spilled it for him. Of course, I didn't tell her that.

It was a short walk from the car to the beach and we made it in silence. There were a few people around us, mostly couples and security, but it was still easy to find a large enough deserted section of the beach where we could just sit and burrow our fingers into the cool sand.

"You're worried," Emma said softly, her head on my shoulders. Her fingers went into my hair, lightly scratching the scalp. I felt like purring.

"Somebody's making a play for the city, Emma. Somebody powerful," I said. The waves were lapping the shore a few meters in front of us. I could feel the crustaceans deeper in the bay and debated bringing them up to shore to make them dance. She enjoyed that.

"It's not the first time," she eventually replied. "But why does she want us – you? Is it because of Danny?"

"I don't know. She says she wants to use my powers but," I replied, shaking my head, "But it's time I talk to him."

"You still have his number? I could call him."

Tilting my head and resting it against hers, I felt myself smile at her words. "It's okay Em," I said. "Besides, I stopped keeping his numbers years ago."

We sat there for a while, leaning against each other. Her phone buzzed her few times, and I almost asked her to pick it up, tell the poor guy something, but I didn't. She was mine, for the moment, and tomorrow I'd have to make plans, get her to safety, but for now we could just rest her and let the sea breeze curl up in our hair.

But not for long.

The bugs alerted me to Fernandes' proximity long before my senses. I shook her slightly and she nodded at me before standing up and extending her hand to me. After all, this wasn't the first time we'd come to the beach.

The man lumbering towards us was much larger than he'd been the last time I'd seen him. He broke out into a smile as he approached, his grey hair and heavily lined face conveying his age. His jovial tone was loud in the night. "Little Taylor Hebert," he said, extending his arms around me in a hug that I could only stiffly return. "And Miss Emma. It's been a long time, Ty. Too long."

"Well, looks like you've been busy," I said, pointing towards the bulging stomach.

"This? Just big lunch," he said, patting the stomach for emphasis. "Goes poof like that!"

Emma laughed, and went forward to hug him in turn. "How are you, Antonio. How's Velma?"

"Oh, she missed little Ty here so much she got one of her own!" At Emma squeal he laughed heartedly. "2 years now. She's a handful, believe me. Worse than Taylor ever was!"

"I find that really hard to believe Antonio," Emma's smirk was wide as she replied and so much brighter than it had been in a long time. "I was there for most of hurricane Taylor."

"Well, she's making up for the big one's absence," he said. "Four years, Taylor. Never knew how big this city could be."

"Yeah," I said, looking straight back at him. "You know it's not personal, Antonio."

He nodded gruffly. "That's what I keep telling Velma. She still doesn't believe me."

The reproach hit me hard.

"Well," he said, trying to smile and soothe over his previous words, "at least you called me here tonight. Let me tell you, I almost had a heart attack when I saw your bugs on the dining room wall!"

"Didn't want to talk to my father's goons tonight." I shrugged. "And it's been too long."

He nodded. The joy was draining out of his face, leaving a stiffer expression. "What's wrong?"

Making sure again that nobody was listening in on us, I began. "Somebody's making a play for the city. Somebody powerful, with Tinker tech. I need to talk to Danny, see what kind of shit he's kicked up now."

Antonio frowned. "He's not been doing anything… unexpected recently. I would know."

"How can you be sure? We both know he cast you aside a long time ago."

Antonio looked at me for a long moment, before sighing. "Walk with me? You too, little Red." Shaking the sand from his boots he started walking towards the waves before turning and striding along the beach. As we walked, the sea winds reached and brushed against us with soft, beckoning touches.

"I've told you before, Ty, I don't blame Danny for that. I like working at the docks." His voice seemed sad as he spoke, but, as always, tinged with something that was uniquely his. "I can't do the kind of things he does. My poor heart can't take it!"

I made a non-commitmental noise. There was no point bringing this up again, not after so many years. Antonio had tried to repeatedly patch things up between father and me before I'd run, but I'd believed his excuses for dad even less than I believed dad's own.

"Still, what I can do, I do," he said, changing the subject rather abruptly. "You want me to get him for you?"

I nodded towards him. "They've got tinkers, strong ones. I don't like what dad does, but the devil you know is better, yeah?"

Emma sighed from beside us.

"Ty," he said, but again let my words pass. "I'll tell him. You want him to call you, or you want to meet?"

"Call." I replied instantly. "My number, for a while at least, is—"

Antonio waved me off. "He's your father, love. He has your number."

It was almost as if he was trying to tell me something.

I nodded at him and we walked quietly again, roughly in the direction of the same parking lot that Emma and I had left the car.

"Velma made a large dinner today. Quite a lot of leftovers," Antonio said, in a soft and expectant tone.

Emma canted her head towards me and I shook mine.

"And I'm sure they'll go poof, too, like the rest of them!"

His smile was smaller, sadder now. He got the hint. He always got the hint, even if he didn't voice it.

"Family makes you rethink things you know?" he said. "What's important, what's not."

I nodded alongside him. Family makes you rethink things, but so does being betrayed. He might have forgiven Danny for his transgressions – hell, maybe he needed to forgive. But I couldn't.

"Come by someday, yeah?" he said, as we climbed the ramp. Emma was quiet behind us, just watching. "Velma misses you."

"Someday." We paused beside his car, a dark blue sedan with a child's seat at the back. It was a change. A profound change. "Keep safe, Antonio. And tell Velma to trust the bugs, if they tell her something one of these days."

He nodded deeply before hugging me again and then moving towards Emma. His skin was sea cold.

His car puffed as he drove off, old and slightly broken under its shiny exterior.

I turned towards Emma. She had tears in her eye.

I took her hand and we walked back onto the beach.

There was so much to do, but it could wait.

Tonight was the long goodbye to the kind of life we'd built for ourselves.


End file.
